


Death From Bad Intentions

by ababybat



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Murder, Rimming, Romance, Sex, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5802157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ababybat/pseuds/ababybat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Jason nor Damian ever head to Gotham, never leave Talia, and instead develop a dangerous bond as Damian grows older. With the world his for the taking, Damian is expected to lead and eventually conquer. When Damian is sent to Gotham to kill the Bat, undoubtedly his greatest challenge, he’ll have to decide if being king atop a lonely hill is really what he wants. As for Jason, he’ll come to the conclusion that burning bridges and turning his back on a life taken from him isn’t nearly as easy as it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (there's a room) where the lie won't find you

**Author's Note:**

> The chapters will remain relatively short since I'm no longer capable of writing long, convoluted chapters. I hope that's not too much of a deal breaker. ^^

_The world will be yours one day,_ is a dark promise carefully carved into Damian's existence.

When Damian was a child, his mother, her cheek pressed against his own, fingers running through his thick hair as she held him close, would whisper those very words to him. A treasonous vow - words that could have had Talia executed without hesitation should The Demon's Head ever find out - became theirs to share.

To give Damian the world she promised to him, Talia will first need to take it from Ra's. And with eyes and ears absolutely everywhere, it will not be easy seizing control of the League.

A dangerous game Talia has them playing, one where the rules are _always_ shifting and changing, and losing means death. As the years wore on, his mother's whispers became silent, his mother's embrace going slack, aware even the privacy of their chambers simply an illusion waiting to be shattered, but the promise in her eyes has remained.

Damian can feel that promise whenever Talia looks at him. It hooks into sinew, carves through his bones, whenever her hand comes to rest on his shoulder and squeezes.

_This will all be yours soon,_ Talia presence screams when she comes to stand next to him. They share no words, make no pointless conversation, while their assassins train down in the courtyard below.

His mother's silence is welcome. It gives Damian time to mull over his thoughts.

To stare.

Jason Todd is among the men and women training below.

His mother's grand prize.

Even when his face is covered, Damian is _always_ able to recognize Jason in the crowd of black. He moves in ways the other assassins do not. Raw power, pain that has been embraced and turned into a weapon, guides every attack. He's dangerous in ways the other assassins can only ever dream of being.

Damian's staring does not go entirely unnoticed. Through the slit in his mask, Jason's azure eyes that have been infected by Lazarus emerald will, every now and again, glance up at Damian.

Whenever their eyes meet, a pleased shiver raking up and down his spine makes Damian's belly twist and ache pleasantly.

Jason once belonged to Batman. As the Boy Wonder, Jason served as the guiding light needed to break through Batman's darkness until, one day, his brightness was extinguished by an explosion of fire and raining debris. The climax of his murder followed by an encore of psychotic laughter that has yet to be silenced.

And now Jason belongs to Talia, or so she believes.

Damian turns away, having seen enough. A bow of his head to his mother - a pleased quirk to her lips betrays her satisfaction at his sign of respect - and Damian is leaving.

Damian doesn't return to his bedroom. Instead he wanders through long, dark hallways, and down giant staircases. He ghosts past guards, none of them brave enough to question him, and then, deep below the stronghold, finally slips into a servant's room that has long been abandoned and simply never reused. In a stronghold as big as this one, rooms being forgotten happens often.

It suits Damian's needs perfectly.

There is no need to wait in the abandoned room too long. Damian is busy lighting a few candles, dispelling some of the room's darkness, when the door behind him opens. The rusted hinges of the heavy door creaks; the sound of it is terribly ominous.

Damian turns, catches the motion of Jason pulling his mask off. Messy dark hair falling over his forehead, the streak of white in his hair standing out in strong contrast. There's no time to appreciate Jason when he's in a state of beautiful disorder.

Too soon hands grab at Damian, pulling him close. Lips seal over his own in a much-desired kiss.

Damian moans as he presses up against Jason, his fingers digging into the man's tunic and holding on. Arms slip around Damian's waist, hands slide over his ass, squeeze, and Damian feels like he could melt into the man if simply given the chance.

And then Jason is pulling away, a grin quick on his wicked lips. Damian moans again, so disappointed by having what he's craved cut so short. Damian tries to bring Jason in for a kiss again, but the older man is too fast.

"Come on." Jason's voice beckons as he backs away towards the room's lonely little cot. His tunic is untied and pulled off along the way, exposing hard muscle and beautifully scarred skin.

Damian's throat tightens. His fingers twitch, desperate to trace each and every scar.

He moves closer, hands beginning to untie the laces of his own clothing, and then dutifully falling away when Jason reaches for them.

"I love undressing you." The scratch in Jason's voice has Damian shivering.

He pushes Jason onto the cot and quickly follows by crawling onto his lap. The way Jason accepts him, arms around him again, lips pressing against his neck, holding him close, has a spark igniting in Damian's heart.

The love twisting around every vein and nerve scares him. His feelings simply aren't all about sex, and sometimes Damian wishes that it could be. It would make everything less complicated.

Jason is a pawn. A sick kind of trophy Talia has claimed from Batman in this never-ending power struggle between them. He's also everything Damian wants. He has been since Damian can remember - his feelings changing, going from something childlike, innocent, to something deeper, more passionate as he grew older.

A weakness is what his grandfather would call it if he knew. A weakness that is so very similar to the one that nearly undid Talia all those years ago.

His feelings for Jason _are_ a weakness, Damian agrees. But it's one Damian can't expel from his being no matter how he tries.

Talia will no doubt have Jason killed should she ever find out about their relationship. The world can't be placed into the hands of one who could be undone by love, so that love would have to be smothered and killed first.

It's something Damian can't allow, so he keeps his feelings to himself. Another secret buried in the quiet corners of his aching heart.


	2. we're built to fall apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters will remain relatively short since I'm no longer capable of writing long, convoluted chapters. I hope that's not too much of a deal breaker. ^^

The sound of something hard - painful - beating down upon flesh, accompanied by the occasional grunt, becomes louder and louder the closer Damian gets to the room situated at the end of the long hallway.

Every loud _crack_ he hears has Damian holding back a wince. Keeping up appearances, looking like he doesn't _care_ when in reality it feels like his heart is being split open, means biting the inside of his cheek bloody and raw. The pungent burst of copper spilling over his tongue keeps him grounded in his lie.

It makes Damian's skin crawl knowing what's happening; knowing he's powerless to put a stop to it.

The guards standing on either side of the door bow their heads when he's near enough to see and acknowledge the display of reverence. Oblivious to the agony devouring Damian from within, the two men make no sound, say nothing, when Damian pushes the heavy door open and steps inside.

The room Damian finds himself in is relatively small. The air is cold and damp; cruel and unwelcome. The _drip, drip, drip_ of water running down old stone walls is the only thing that breaks the rhythmic sound of someone being beaten.  

Damian's gaze is immediately drawn to the figure chained up in the middle of the room. The man's already bruised wrists - crimson wells up in shallow cuts and spills down his arms in small rivers - have been shackled to chains dangling from the high ceiling.

The chains keep him up even when his knees buckle and give out.

Jason has been stripped completely naked; exposed with nothing to protect him from knives and canes.

Bruises shaped like dark shadows against tanned bronze mingle with deep gashes which, splitting his skin open, add a splash of color to this ghoulish painting.

Jason raises his head and seems to look through Damian. His eyes are clouded over with pain, and Damian wonders if Jason is even aware of what's happening. He should be - all members are conditioned to withstand an incredible amount of pain.

Damian turns away, his stomach churning, and finds Talia standing close.

She watches every strike laid upon Jason without ever flinching. Damian knows his mother takes no sadistic pleasure in what is happening, but neither does she seem too repulsed by what's happening - the expression on her face is one of cool indifference.

"What is going on, mother?" Damian's steady voice surprises even himself. It shouldn't, he supposes. He's become so good at pretending he isn't screaming on the inside.

Talia's eyes remain devoid of any real emotion - pools of green betraying none of her inner feelings - as she turns her gaze towards her son.

"He is being punished." Talia says simply.

"Why?" Damian asks. For an awful, irrational second he fears his mother has found out about them and this unpleasant display is Jason's final punishment before a quick death.

"His mission failed and his target still lives... At least for now." A crack in her composure comes in the form of a displeased frown. "Failure is not tolerated, my love. You know this better than anyone." A glimmer of something else comes alive in her eyes; some kind of warning mingled with what looks a lot like fear.

"Todd did not fail!" Damian protests despite knowing he risks giving himself and his feelings away. The indignation he feels on Jason's behalf burns like fire in his belly, and he can't silence his words like he knows he should. He's read the reports - the assassins accompanying Jason were rash, foolish, exposing themselves too soon which resulted in their target's bodyguards descending upon them. Their one chance to strike disappearing as a small war raged between them. "The assassins _you_ sent with him were incompetent."

"Their incompetence thus became his." Talia snaps. "He was tasked with leading these men, and he couldn't make up for their shortcomings, so now their failure rests on _his_ shoulders." Talia sighs heavily. "I know you're fond of him, darling, but anyone else, _including you or I_ , would have received a similar punishment, and everyone must be treated the same." Her hands reach for Damian, grabbing his shoulders, and once again Damian feels heavy under the weight of her expectations. "As a leader, you absolutely cannot have any favorites. They will weaken your resolve. Keep you from doing what must be done. Make you question when you can't afford to have doubts. Do you understand?"

Damian looks back at Jason. The man is finally unconscious, his head hanging, chin pressed against his chest. He looks vulnerable; weak. In need of a savior Damian will never be allowed to be.

"I understand."

And by god sometimes Damian doesn't want to.

 

* * *

 

Jason is taken to his room to have his wounds tended to when Talia calls an end to his punishment. Damian aches to see Jason, but caution keeps him from his lover's side. His conversation with Talia revealed too much.

_"I know you're fond of him, darling..."_

Years spent growing up with Jason always within reach, always close, means he would naturally develop a fondness for the older man. Damian fears, however, that Talia knows his feelings go beyond the timid affection he was allowed to have as a child.

Damian paces around in his room instead. Walking up and down, Damian tries to calm the turmoil churning deep in every corner of himself. Distressed, Damian feels like he's slowly, inch by inch, being ripped down the middle, as he tries to accept that Jason's punishment was justified. He tries to reconcile his love with what he was taught, and feels like he's failing.

Anyone else and Damian would have accepted Talia's decision ever without questioning it, but Jason has him doubting and Damian knows this weakness in him needs to be purged before it can become his undoing. He's just not sure _how_.

Bringing an end to their relationship will not help him - Damian's feelings will not vanish simply because he's no longer sleeping with the man, and Damian fears the madness of his love will only be made worse should Jason be denied to him.

There's nothing Damian _can_ do except hope time will turn his love to dust.

The dinner and evening with his mother is agony. Usually he enjoys spending time with Talia - conversing and laughing and pretending she is simply his mother and he is nothing more than a beloved son - but now he can only think of Jason and how much he aches to be with him.

Damian sips slowly from the one glass of wine he's allowed to have while his mother carries the conversation on her own. The taste is sour, unpleasant, on his tongue, and Damian can feel as it burns down his throat and into his stomach.

Talia never once comments on how quiet he's being. It makes Damian nervous.

When his evening with Talia is over, Damian finally gives himself over to the need to see Jason. His visit to Jason's room _will_ be reported to his mother, there is no helping it, and Damian uses the long walk to prepare his excuse. It will need to be polished, but something about making sure Jason's recovery won't leave him useless too long sounds plausible enough.

Damian sneaks in. Quiet and ready to slip out again should Jason still be asleep. Damian only needs to see Jason for a second to make sure he's fine; to soothe the ache in his own heart.

But Jason is awake, and there will be no sneaking out again. Propped up against a few pillows, his wounds bandaged, red staining white gauze, Jason looks like he's been walking through a war zone. Damian's breath hitches in his throat and feels like it's sucked all the way back into his lungs.

It feels like he'll never be able to breathe easily again.

They take a moment to stare at one another. Relieved, Jason's greedy eyes take him in, and Damian knows in his own eyes is a reflection of Jason's joy. It's then that Damian realizes Jason desperately needed to see him, too.

Damian's limbs feel heavy, weighed down by guilt. He wonders if he even deserves to be there. What right has he to comfort Jason - to seek comfort - when he did absolutely nothing to make the pain stop?

Jason knows what Damian is thinking, he _must_ see it in the shadows hiding in the corners of Damian's green eyes. Before Damian can say or do anything, Jason is moving. Reaching for Damian with his hand outstretched, Jason waits. The crooked smile on his face barely masks the pained grimace.

"Beloved," falls from his lips and is wrapped up in a sigh. Damian moves to his lover's side, takes Jason's hand in his own and loves how warm his skin is.

Even with the words sitting eagerly on his tongue, Damian can't bring himself to apologize. Instead he ghosts his lips over Jason's knuckles, hopes it will be enough to say what he isn't allowed to say.

"You shouldn't call me that." Jason says. The grin never wavers, and Damian knows Jason is actually pleased. He always is when Damian slips up.

Damian wishes he could slip up more. He also wishes Jason didn't have new scars, lines of angry red that will one day fade to a dull white. He wishes he could protect as easily as Jason protects him.

"Hey," Jason says, his voice pulling Damian back from his thoughts, "I'm fine, I promise. Looks way worse than it is."

Jason isn't one to lie or mince words, but Damian finds his reassurances hard to believe him.

"Alright, come here then." Jason is suddenly dragging him forward, and Damian considers resisting before finally giving in, his balance tipping, and falling towards Jason. Damian almost pulls away again when the older man breathes a quick, pained _Jesus, fuck_ through clenched teeth when Damian accidentally presses against one of his stitches.

Jason's grip is tight, however, and Damian can't pull away.

Damian should be doing the comforting, Damian thinks as he settles next to Jason. But this is how it's always been, isn't it? Since he was brought here from Gotham, Jason's purpose in his new life has been to protect Talia's would-be prince. His purpose has been to serve, and to guard Damian, even against his own demons.

This once Damian would have liked to give as much as he's been taking.


	3. the world is black and white (but we'll dream in colors)

A harsh groan, buried deep underneath Jason's ribs, makes his bones shudder, forces what little breath he has in him out of his straining lungs.

Every shallow roll of Jason's hips makes the two long legs wrapped around his waist pull him in even deeper, and his vision cracks, explodes, when scorching heat squeezes around his cock.

Damian's back arches off the bed, pushing him up against Jason. Rapid and shallow gasps fall from his gorgeous lips, and Jason can feel his lungs burning up in his chest as the fire in his belly spreads upward. He dips his head low, lips ghosting over Damian's, presses down into the younger man, stealing Damian's breath and taking it into himself. The fingers in his hair tighten, nails digging into his scalp, before a powerful thrust has Damian's hands falling away onto the bed, sparks igniting in every nerve, making him feel boneless.

Jason sees his chance to feel closer than he already is. He claims that chance, drops from holding himself up with his palms, down to his elbows, boxing his lover in. He grabs Damian's hands with his own, fingers twining, and pulls their joined hands up over Damian's head and holds on tight.

Muscles ache from exertion. A drop of sweat runs down his back, and along the curve of his spine. He needs to cum, and soon - feels like he'll fall apart if he doesn't. Ridiculous how desperate in his own skin he is when Damian is in his arms.

Jason can tell Damian is close, can hear it in the whimpers trapped in his throat, and Jason can feel his own release in his belly's clenching. The fire in his blood has become an inferno.

Damian cums, a scream lodged in his throat, an echo of it found in Jason's long, drawn-out moan as he follows his lover over the edge.

Hips come to a slow stop. Damian pulls his hands away and cups Jason's jaw, fingertips gentle against his skin, while they kiss, slowly, like this is the last time. His lips are tingling, swollen, eager and willing to kiss Damian until all life leaves him.

Knowing that Damian feels the same has Jason giddy in ways he never imagined.

Jason eventually pulls away, pulls out of Damian, misses his lover's warmth already. Damian looks up at him, lids hanging heavy over his green eyes. Jason grins down at his lover as he runs his hand through his bangs, pushing them back and away from his forehead, his messy hair wild now.

A glimpse of peace creeps upon their stolen moment. Jason sits leaning back against cold stone, and watches exhaustion pulls Damian into unconsciousness. The kid doesn't normally fall asleep after sex - he's always too terrified of being somehow discovered. Usually Damian is already dressed and on his way. A final, lingering kiss and the trembling in his bones is typically the only reminder Jason has of their pleasant indiscretions.

Jason likes it when Damian is too bone weary to be afraid.

This isn't the life Jason ever imagined for himself. As a kid on the streets Jason always expected he would be dead by sixteen, and yeah, he _did_ die young, but not because some jacked-up dude twice his size shanked him in an alley. He died because he was pulled into a war he never should have been a part of; a war he couldn't let go of even when the man he expected to mourn him, avenge him, replaced him without a care in the world.

_Talia's eyes are beautiful with promise. "One day Damian will rule a world that's begging for him to save it, and you must ensure that he keeps standing when everything else tries to pull him down." She leans over the many photos of Batman with his new Robin. Jason's replacement is grinning; high on the thrill of running across rooftops and being a hero. Jason remembers that feeling well, and wonders how long it will take for that feeling to turn sour as reality shatters the twerp's innocence. "Bruce has forsaken you, replaced you easily and without a second thought, but you can still find purpose in his son. And one day I, not Batman, will give you the vengeance you crave."_

To this day Jason isn't sure why he accepted to join Talia's cause. Maybe it was because she will one day let him have his revenge, something Batman would never do. But Jason suspects it's because he needs to feel like he has purpose, or some crap like that. And as the years wore on Jason realized he was starting to believe in Talia's cause more and more.

Damian is _everything_.

Jason never imagined he would actually come to care about the boy. As a kid, Damian was an entitled, surly brat with something of a god complex. Damian was, as Jason also realized, also so lonely he could break from it.

If there's one thing Jason is very familiar with, it's loneliness.

It took a long time - and required more patience than Jason ever expected to have - but eventually Damian's disdain changed into admiration and, even more surprisingly, they somehow ended up being friends.

Jason has no idea why Talia allowed them to become close when tutors and trainers were habitually punished for even making the attempt. Perhaps she expected Jason's willingness to die, to kill, for Damian if Jason loved him.

Talia was right. There's nothing Jason wouldn't do for Damian.

He also never expected to fall in love, but the kid grew up and the closeness between them changed.

There are times Jason will look at Damian and see a younger Bruce with darkness of a different kind hanging over him. And other times Damian is all Talia, with the same kind of dangerous beauty and deadly grace men have and will continue to die for.

Jason suspects he will be one of those men.

With the best parts of his parents, it's really no surprise that Jason fell for him. Except Damian isn't either of them - he's better than they could ever hope to be. He's more than Jason deserves, so he'll do what he can to lay the world at Damian's feet.

Maybe being so damn in love with the world's future conqueror will get him killed, but Jason figures he's died once already. All that did was make him angry.


	4. in a perfect world the future wouldn't make a dent

"You're distracted." Jason accuses as he easily sweeps Damian's legs out from under him. He places his hands on his hips, and quirks an eyebrow at Damian as the young man simply lies there.

Usually Damian would be up already and coming at him with a furious kind of power woven into every move. Now he's doing absolutely nothing, confirming Jason's suspicion that _something_ is wrong.

Damian takes his training seriously. He loves sparring, especially with Jason, so whatever has Damian preoccupied has to be big.

"You're obviously not in the mood," Jason says when he plops down next to Damian. He leans back on his hands, his long legs stretching out in front of him.

"Perhaps I was going easy on you," Damian replies when he sits up, "You have not fully recovered yet."

Jason snorts, amused by the obvious lie. "You've _never_ tried to go easy on me before. Remember when you were twelve and I came back from that mission in Serbia?" Jason's eyes cloud over with nostalgia and a fond smile spreads across his face. "I'd been shot five times, and I was still recovering but you insisted, very loudly, that I needed to walk it off. Of course, by _walk_ you actually meant _train_." A chuckle escapes him. "I think you just saw an easy way to finally kill me."

An unenthusiastic hum is all Damian gives him. Jason watches, also silent, as Damian pulls his knees up and wraps his arms around his legs.

It's a habit Damian has never been able to fully break. The act of Damian wrapping his arms around himself, pulling into himself, says so much more than his words usually do.

When Damian is feeling particularly vulnerable about something, he will make himself as small as possible. He'll cave in on himself, hope he's somehow become invisible, so he can dwell on his many worries. Damian takes these moments to lose himself in his mind, and chip away at his feelings and insecurities, until he's bloody and broken, and then he can build himself back up again.

It's a show of vulnerability Damian really should have grown out of by now. He _has_ gotten better at not showing this particular weakness, but every now and again Damian can't save himself from his own fears.

Jason figures that's okay. Jason will protect Damian from _everyone_ , and that means making sure no one, not even Talia, gets to see Damian when he's like this.

"Mother has received word that grandfather will be arriving in a few days." Damian says finally.

"Ah." Jason finds himself frowning. Ra's al Ghul makes his skin crawl.

Ra's hasn't been around in years. The Demon's Head is always moving, always expanding and strengthening The League's influence, and only ever really interested in seeing his daughter and grandson when he feels he needs to control them directly.

Like pieces on a chessboard, or so the damn cliché goes.

Leaning closer, Jason plants a lingering kiss on Damian's jaw in the hopes it will distract his lover from his worries.

"Not here, Todd." Damian protests even as he turns his head so his lips can brush against Jason's.

"Yes, here." Jason nips at his lover's lips until they're plump and swollen, and then soothes the sting of it with a sweep of his tongue.

And then a bang down the hallway, loud and unexpected, has Damian pulling away like he's been burned.

"I must prepare for grandfather's arrival." Damian says. He leaves before Jason can do anything to stop him.

Sighing, Jason falls back on the practice mat and stares up at nothing.

 

* * *

 

Damian has always greatly admired his grandfather. Ra's is everything Damian is supposed to be, and he became that by his own strength and willpower. The man has the kind of skill, power, intelligence, and cunning Damian can only hope to have one day.

Damian knows he was created to be perfect. With the best qualities his mother and Batman possess, Damian was engineered to be the perfect specimen. He has, as his mother proudly claims, all of their strengths and none of their weaknesses. When compared to Ra's, however, Damian feels like a cracked vase. He feels flawed in ways that can't be corrected.

The League will belong to him one day, Damian has no doubts about it. He is his mother's will brought to life, after all, but then again, stealing The League from Ra's isn't what has Damian so nervous. No, instead Damian fears his greatest failure will come in the form of being unable to _keep_ The League.

There are many people who are loyal to The Demon's Head. The kind of loyalty Ra's has bled and killed for has made drawing allies to their cause difficult. The amount of people willing to risk everything, without question and without hesitation, for Ra's is, at times, truly staggering.

To counterbalance this, Talia has, since Damian's conception, lifted her son up as being some kind of _chosen one_. Damian, she has always whispered in quiet corners into ears excited to listen, will be the one to finally accomplish what Ra's has never been able to do. Damian is the one who will bring order to a chaotic and broken world.

He will be a victorious Alexander. And Talia, as Olympias, will be the one to give her son his earthly throne.

There are many who believe his mother's words. Damian can see it in the way everyone looks at him - like he's somehow divine, and able to save them all.

But one day Talia's words will not be enough.

 

* * *

 

"Beloved grandson."

Two kisses, one on each cheek, has Damian feeling like a child again. The happy and satisfied child whenever Ra's would bestow affection upon him - moments as uncommon as they were cherished.

In the years spent apart, Damian has grown up, even gained a few inches on Ra's, but even so, Damian still feels so small. In his mind, Ra's will _always_ tower over him.

"You have grown well." Ra's says, voice a low hum.

The pleased look in his grandfather's eyes has Damian's heart pounding violently against his chest. How many years did he spend trying, and often failing, to earn that look? The ease with which it's given now has alarm bells ringing in Damian's head.

"Damian has led multiple successful missions." Talia pipes in. She has been calm and silent during this reunion, and painting a lovely picture as an obedient daughter. "You should be proud."

"I am." Ra's sounds like he means it. "Damian is doing exceptionally well, and that is exactly why I am here."

An eerie silence descends upon the room, heavy with expectation, as Ra's stares at his grandson with unnaturally green eyes. Damian sometimes wonders if, like Jason, his grandfather once had different colored eyes and, if so, what color they could possibly have been.

Seconds come and go, and Damian struggles to keep himself from fidgeting, or from looking away. He has to keep up the image of _worthy grandson_ his mother has cultivated his entire life.

"Oh?" Talia prompts when the silence becomes too much even for her.

Ra's spins around so he's facing the woman, his emerald and gold robes dancing between his legs. "It's finally time, Talia."

Talia's eyes widen a fraction of a second before they narrow again. The pleasure in them is obvious.

Damian doesn't need to ask what they could be talking about. It's the moment he's has been waiting his entire life for. Every mission Damian has undertaken over the many years have all served as training for this one.

It's time to kill Batman. His father.

Damian knows very little about the man whom he shares blood with. Talia has always been so very insistent about limiting Damian's exposure to the one who sired him. Everything personal about the man behind the mask has been deemed unimportant, and Damian is only ever allowed to examine stolen footage of Batman's movements and techniques, so he can gain a better understanding of how Batman operates and how to use his own strengths against him one day.

Jason has reluctantly provided bits and pieces of information about _Bruce Wayne_ over the years, but he can't claim that it has helped his understanding of who exactly Bruce is.

What Damian does know is that Talia loved his father fiercely. He knows it nearly became her undoing when Bruce chose his foolish moral code over his own love for her. Damian also knows that whenever Talia looks at him, her son, she sees a reflection of that haunting love.

Over the years Talia has hardened her heart to that love and the memories of it. Never in the way she treats her son, but instead in the way she approaches matters involving her former lover, and in the way she has decided that for Damian to succeed, Batman _must_ die.

Damian sometimes wonders why Talia doesn't hate him, too. He wonders why she loves him so fiercely instead, when he is a reminder of the man she has always wanted but can never have.

"Killing Batman means Gotham will be ripe for the taking." Ra's continues. His words snap Damian out of his thoughts.

Gotham has always been the first step in his grandfather's plans for world domination. Damian suspects it has more to do with the bitterness Ra's feels than any real strategic value Gotham may or may not possess.

Then again, Batman _is_ an important member of The Justice League. His loss, along with his city's, will no doubt have a strong negative impact on the world.

"It's time for us to strike." Ra's is once again looking at Damian. "You will not go alone, of course." There's an excited madness in his eyes. "I think it's time my daughter's investment pays off." A smirk twists his face into something cruel. "It's time the Detective learns what it feels like when a former protégé turns on you."

 

* * *

 

They say you can never go home again, or something like that.

Jason figures there's some truth in the saying. Gotham stopped being his home a long time ago. The city has become a nightmare; a place grasping within its soiled claws a life Jason wishes he could forget.

He hates Gotham. He very much hates that he's going back, but deep down, mingled in with the dread, is the beginnings of excitement. After years of waiting, Jason will finally have his revenge.

When the asshole who murdered him has been beaten to the same bloody, ruined pulp Jason had once been, when the life leaves his crazy eyes, Jason will _finally_ be free. And when Damian's sword pushes through Bruce's chest, something Jason realized long ago he longs for as much as he aches for his killer's death, Jason will place Gotham at Damian's feet and watch the world burn.

Looking over at Damian as the young man flips a few switches to get their plane airborne, Jason grins.

Gotham awaits.


	5. (i'll be there) when your heart stops beating

As it turns out (to absolutely no one's surprise) Gotham is _still_ the same goddamn shithole it's always been. The only thing that's changed in this cursed city is Jason's place in it.

 

 _"The more things change, the more they stay the same,"_ Alfred used to say.

 

The man is (was?) a fountain of wisdom. He was always offering advice to anyone who would listen, and that _anyone_ almost always turned out to be Jason.

 

Sometimes, when Jason can't help himself, he'll think about Alfred. Sometimes Jason stops and wonders, with a dull ache he desperately pretends isn't real taking shape in his heart, if Alfred is still doing alright. No matter how much Jason despises Bruce and the family, Alfred has never been a part of that hate. The old man was always good to him, kind and loving, and always tried his best to shield Jason from Bruce's selfishness.

 

Now it's Jason's turn. When Gotham goes up in flames, and it _will_ , Jason swears he'll make sure Alfred is safe.

 

His lips purse as he continues to stare out the window at the city outside. It's a depressing sight. With the weather being as dreary as it is, Gotham somehow looks even more miserable than usual. One would hope rain could magically cleanse the city, and wash away all of its filth, but Jason knows Gotham is so very beyond saving.

 

Jason swears he can see the corruption running down the buildings' walls in rivers of inky black as it mixes in with the rain.

 

He turns away from the view and into the warmth of his new but temporary home. The safehouse they're staying in is, simply put, absolutely _gorgeous_. When on a mission, members of The League usually stay in crappy little rat-infested dives that regularly go unnoticed by the authorities. But the luxury penthouse Talia set them up in is fit for a prince, and Jason knows she's sending a message.

 

Speaking of Talia's would-be prince, Damian is still where Jason left him. In bed, stretched out on his stomach, his laptop open, Damian has been reading through every news article about Bruce Wayne he's been able to find.

 

Damian's sweats are hanging low on his hips, and Jason blinks, feels a little shaky, when he realizes those sweatpants actually belong to _him_. The knowledge that Damian is wearing his clothes has Jason eagerly crawling back onto the bed, and when he folds himself around his lover, Jason can't help but pull the sweats over Damian's ass so he can nip and lick at the mounds of flesh. There's a gasp, followed by a pleased hum as Damian bucks up into his touch.

 

They'd fucked as soon as they'd arrived. With no one else around, Damian's inhibitions simply disappeared. He'd been loud in ways Jason never even knew his lover _could_ be. Screaming himself hoarse, his voice breaking at the edges, as Jason had fucked him. The sound of it had been enough to make Jason see stars. Now that he knows Damian can make such sweet sounds? Well, now Jason needs to hear more.

 

Jason quickly and easily spreads Damian's cheeks. He dips his head low and licks his tongue along Damian's hole in a long, filthy wet stripe. There's a jerking movement as Damian slams the laptop shut - Jason smiles at this tiny victory over Bruce - and then pushes back into Jason's skilled tongue.

 

Oh, how Jason _loves_ eating Damian out. He loves the musky taste of Damian's body resting heavy on his tongue, and he loves how easily he can undo Damian with a few powerful strokes of his tongue.

"Todd... _Beloved_..." Damian groans, and his voice is _still_ so shattered from before. Jason's own cock is already aching - well on its way to full hardness, and all because the sound of Damian's voice is like heaven to his ears.

 

Jason hums in response. He shoves the tip of his tongue into Damian's warm body as his lover reaches back so he can twist his long fingers into Jason's hair. Desperate for more, Damian holds Jason's head still when pushes back against the man's mouth.

 

Jason is, as always, more than willing to take care of his lover's needs.

 

He manages to pull away a little despite Damian's hand holding him steady. Jason smirks when his tongue's loss has Damian whining pitifully.

 

To reassure his lover, Jason quickly blows warm breath over Damian's wet hole. He shudders when Damian gasps - so sharp and so loud that Jason imagines he can feel it. His lips press against Damian's flesh in a sweet kiss, the tenderness coaxing another groan from Damian. Then, with a few more careful flicks of Jason's tongue, Damian is cumming.

 

His whole body shudders - muscles tremble against quaking bone - as Damian rides the high of his release.

 

When Jason pulls away, Damian slumps. His whole body is heavy and relaxed, and now there's no need to struggle against the sluggishness brought on by a really amazing orgasm.

 

Palming his own aching cock, Jason grins. His mouth and chin are a mess, and he knows the picture he makes is one of debauchery. Knowing he looks so wickedly sinful simply makes Jason's cock ache more.

 

Quickly, without any more delay, Jason unbuttons and unzips his jeans. He kicks them off, and curls his fingers around his heavy cock. His strokes are gentle and meant to tease more than anything else. The breath catching in his lungs makes Jason's chest feel impossibly heavy. Usually good at drawing his own pleasure out, Jason finds he's too desperate to really enjoy his own touch.

 

He needs to be inside Damian. _Now_.

 

Hidden among the messy covers of their ridiculously large bed hides a well-used bottle of lube. Jason finds it easily enough and, without any more delay, goes about prepping his lover. Even with one orgasm already come and gone, Damian is still so very eager to ride Jason's fingers. He _is_ young and his recovery time is a little faster, but Jason knows it will still take quite some effort to get Damian hard again.

 

The patience needed to tease Damian is gone, and Jason finds it impossible to take his time. He pulls his fingers out and away sooner than he usually would, and dribbles lube on his cock before spreading it along and over the length. Then, finally, pushes into his lover's heat.

 

The first slide into Damian's body always, without fail, has Jason's heart seizing up. The insanely pleasurable warmth cradling his cock makes it so damn hard to breathe; even to think. Jason takes the moment his body needs to adjust to fold himself over Damian's back. His lips graze Damian's ear; the puff of his warm breath has his lover squirming.

 

"I love fucking you." Jason murmurs. His voice is thick; destroyed by having his lover's body moving around him so perfectly. Damian is whining, and pushes his forehead against the sheets. "I love how warm you are." Jason continues. "I love how tight you are; squeezing me in all the right ways. You were made for my cock, and you _know_ it."

 

Jason pulls out. Only the head of his cock is buried inside Damian. He pauses, enjoys the way he has Damian heaving in anticipation, before he thrusts back in so he's buried to the hilt. It's a slow but hard shove of his hips - exactly the way Damian loves it.

 

There's a beautiful, loud yelp from his lover. The first cry of many, or so Jason hopes.

 

The pace is brutally slow and each movement of Jason's hips has his lover's entire body jerking. The words, "you're so goddamn perfect," and, "I love you so fucking much," are whispered into Damian's hair. The confirmation coupled with the praise has his lover sobbing and choking on hiccupping breaths.

 

Damian is pushing down onto the sheets, desperately seeking friction - Jason knows the younger man managed to get hard again. He moves his arm around Damian's waist, and finds his cock. Slowly, with every inward thrust of his hips, Jason strokes his hand up Damian's cock. The sensation of Jason's hand around him, of Jason's cock brushing so perfectly against his prostrate, has Damian giving in to the screams crawling up his sore throat.

 

There's no way Damian can last for very long, not when he's being touched in all the right ways.

 

Soon he's cumming over Jason's hand, and onto the sheets below. Damian's whole body tenses as his orgasm sets his nerves on fire. It's as intense, as bone-shattering, as the first one.

 

Damian's body squeezing around his cock makes Jason's vision pop. He's burying his face into Damian's neck, and groaning low. He manages a few more forceful pumps of his hips until Jason, too, is cumming. Jason keeps his hips moving through his orgasm, can't seem to stop until, finally, his body gives out and he slumps on top of his lover.

 

"You're crushing me." Damian breathes a few seconds later.

 

"Sorry, gorgeous." Jason groans as he pulls out and rolls away so Damian can breathe again. He catches the way Damian shudders at the loss and feels it, too.

 

If he could, Jason would stay inside Damian forever. Jason would melt into Damian if he could. He would become the strength behind Damian's bones and he would be the fiery blood in Damian's veins. As it stands, being able to fuck Damian on a regular basis - without the fear of being caught - is a pretty damn good consolation prize.

 

* * *

 

 

"Why are we here?"

 

Jason knows Damian actually meant to say _"Why are we out here in the rain?"_

 

Down in the streets below, people brace themselves as Gotham's unique blend of criminals prepare to cause as much chaos and destruction as possible.

 

Jason turns away from the view so he can look at the younger man standing behind him.

 

With his cloak's hood pulled up over his head, it's almost impossible to make out Damian's expression. Jason _does_ know Damian well enough to know his lover is scowling fiercely. There's a sharp bite in the evening wind and rain that Damian isn't used to. No doubt he finds the chill creeping into his bones more than a little uncomfortable, especially while the warmth of their shared bed remains so vivid in his memory.

 

"You wanted to know more about your dad, right?" The way Damian's shoulders tense does not go unnoticed. He'll always deny it, but Jason knows Damian has been having a hard time keeping his interest in Bruce purely professional. "The best way to get to know Bruce Wayne - _Batman_ \- is to get to know his city. The streets will tell you more than any stupid article ever will."

 

"I see." Damian comes to stand next to him. He stands close to the edge of the rooftop, and quietly surveys the buildings stretched out before him. The wind whips at his long cloak, and for a moment, just a blink of an eye, it looks like black wings have spread from his back. "And what exactly did you have in mind, beloved?"

 

The term of endearment still makes Jason feel like a giddy teenager with his first love. Damian has been calling him _beloved_ as often as he possibly can. He's been indulging in his desires, and Jason _loves_ seeing it happen.

 

"I did some digging and Harvey Dent, or Two Face if you prefer, is staging a little _trial_ for one of his thugs who, turns out, is _also_ acting as one of Riddler's informants." Jason shoves his hands in his jacket's pockets and grins down at the city below. "I say we crash the proceedings and give Gotham a little taste of what's to come."  

 

Damian tilts his head. "And Batman will not interfere?"

 

Jason can understand Damian's caution. They are, in no way, ready to reveal themselves to the Bat.

 

"He and his _sidekick_ ," Jason spits the word like it's poison, "are currently overseeing Killer Croc's transfer to Arkham Asylum. If any of the other bats show up then," Jason shrugs casually, "we kill 'em."

 

"You will not hesitate?" Damian's gaze is intense. Jason knows what he's looking for - a small hint of weakness that could undo their entire mission.

 

"Will you hesitate when the time comes to kill your father?" Jason counters easily.

 

The scowl pulls the corners of Damian's lips down. His green eyes flash dangerously and the edge to his voice as he hisses, "He is _not_ my father," is brutal. "The fact that his DNA was used for my creation is completely irrelevant. There is no bond between us; no reason not to end his life."

 

Jason reaches for Damian, cups his face between his hands. He sucks Damian's bottom lip between his teeth, has his lover leaning in closer, hands sliding over Jason's leather jacket. The way Damian practically falls into him will never get old. "My thoughts exactly, gorgeous."

 

When Jason pulls away, he looks out to the city again. "Well? We gonna do this or what?"

 

Damian's lips glisten with a promise. "Lead the way."

 

* * *

 

 

Drowning out Dent's crazy-ass ranting is easier said than done. Jason forgot how loud Dent can be when he starts arguing with his other half about that annoyingly blind thing called _justice_. And when Jason took his coin away? Well, there was no shutting him up then.

 

Getting into the trial was surprisingly easy. Killing Dent's assembled thugs was even easier.

 

The poor fool being tried seemed hopeful a rescue was currently underway up until one of Jason's bullets went straight through his head.

 

The obscene amount of blood pooling around them is making the floorboards sticky, and has Jason's boots making an annoying _squelch_ sound whenever he moves around. He'll have to dump them somewhere before going back to the safehouse. A shame - Jason _really_ liked these boots.

 

"Give it back." Dent growls from where he's kneeling. "GIVE IT BACK!"

 

Tied up and surrounded by the dead bodies of his men, Dent looks utterly pathetic.

 

"Why has this man not been executed for his crimes?" Damian wonders aloud. He's standing behind Dent and watching him with calm and cool eyes. The thin press of his lips is a clear indication that Damian is not impressed by one of the men who has repeatedly terrorized Gotham and its citizens.

 

"You dare!? _You dare!?_ " Dent twists around, trying to catch a glimpse of Damian and failing. Moving freely is difficult with his hands tied behind his back. " _I_ decide who will be executed! No one executes me!"

 

"Harvey Dent was a good man once, and Batman believes he can be... Helped." Jason replies. Maybe he can be helped. Except Dent's had one chance too many, and innocents have always had to pay the heavy price when another stay in Arkham failed to help Dent in any kind of meaningful way.

 

"Batman?" Dent spits. "Did Batman send you? Is he trying to _scare_ me? WELL IT WON'T WORK."

 

"Batman didn't send us, Harvey old pal." Jason says. "But you'll be wishing for him soon enough."

 

"Then who are you?"

 

"A ghost." Jason replies easily. The truth of that simple statement has an uncomfortable feeling awakening in him.

 

"Well, _Mr. Ghost_ ," Dent sneers, "Give me my coin back. You can't take it from me! IT'S MINE GIVE IT BACK TO ME!"

 

"Be quiet." Damian snaps.

 

The words are barely cold on Damian's tongue when he strikes.

 

Jason has been trained in how to wield swords, but he has never had a liking for them. He's never felt like he's elegant enough for a sword. Damian, however, moves with the skill and grace to handle such a weapon with deadly and beautiful precision.

 

One second Damian's hand is curving around the hilt, and the next there's a glint of silver right before the blade cuts clean through Dent's neck. Dent has no time to react - there is no pleading for mercy, no more threats, just the wet sound of Damian's sword cutting through flesh, muscle and bone, followed by the dull _thud_ of Dent's severed head hitting the bloody floor.

 

Seconds later his headless body slumps forward, and more blood comes gushing out.

 

"You could have given me a _head's_ up, you know." Jason finds himself joking.

 

"Please do not." Damian is grinning despite his words. He kneels slowly, remains careful not to let his knee touch the disgusting floor, and wipes the blade off on Dent's ugly suit. No doubt he'll be obsessively cleaning the sword once they get home.

 

Jason walks over and when Damian straightens up again, his blade now sheathed, Jason is in front of him. He's crowding into Damian, feels like he _has_ to touch his lover, and gives in quickly by cupping Damian's cheeks in two large hands.

 

There's a streak of blood on Damian's cheek. Jason's thumb swipes through it, smearing it over a gorgeous cheekbone. Damian's eyes darken into pools of black, his lips part, and he looks so goddamn wanton that Jason shivers. The beginning of arousal licks up in his veins.

 

"I want you to fuck me." Damian whispers.

 

"Here?" Jason looks for a moment at the headless body lying not too far away. "It's a little morbid even for us, don't you think?" Jason adds when Damian nods eagerly.

 

"I _need_ you." Damian whines as he reaches for Jason's pants. Damian has already undone the button and zipper, already has his fingers curling around Jason's cock, before Jason can even blink.

 

Jason groans - it sounds so obscene even to his own ears - and he leans his forehead against Damian's. Those pretty green eyes are staring up at him from underneath lowered lashes, and it would be so easy to give in. He could push Damian up against a wall, could have Damian's gorgeous legs around his waist, he could reach for the lube in his back pocket and get them both off by fucking up into Damian until his legs give out.

 

It would be so easy. He craves Damian in ways some would probably consider unhealthy.

 

"I'll fuck you." Jason murmurs and it has Damian fucking _mewling_. "Baby, I'll fuck you so hard you'll feel me for _days_." A gasp echoes in Jason's ears, but he's not entirely sure who did it. The trembling, though, is both of them. "But not here."

 

Damian groans when Jason's hand wraps around his wrist to bring an end to his movements.

 

"Tt. You _better_ keep your word, Todd." And then Damian is pulling away. The sudden rush of cold air has Jason shivering.

 

"I will." Jason laughs. He makes quick work of tucking himself back in and zipping his pants back up. "But we really need to go."

 

Swinging an arm around Damian's shoulders, Jason leads his lover to the exit. He glances over his shoulder, finds himself grinning at Dent's ghoulish head lying so close to his corpse.

 

Bruce will be called in. He will agonize about the murder for days. He'll wondering who could have killed Dent so mercilessly and, no matter how hard he tries, _none_ of his possible theories will come close to the truth.

 

It's a victory. The first of many.

 

There will undoubtedly be a power struggle as scum like Penguin and Black Mask, to name but a few, both try to move in on Dent's territory. And just like that, Gotham's underbelly will come one step closer to tearing itself apart.

 

Jason's grin widens. The fun has officially begun.


	6. in the night we'll wish this never ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff before the real fun starts~.

"What is _this_?"

"It's a burger, gorgeous."

Damian carefully pokes the sesame bun with his knife, as if it will come alive and attack him. Jason has to quickly begin sucking on his milkshake's straw so he won't laugh at how absolutely offended Damian looks.

The waitress, wispy strands of her fading brown hair falling from her messy bun, is scowling at Damian. Hours and hours spent on her feet has her in no mood to deal with anyone's pretentiousness. She clicks her tongue before walking away, and reminds Jason so much of Damian for a split second that he snorts.

Finding out the diner still exists - and is still owned by the mean-looking old woman hiding a heart of gold - was something of a bittersweet moment for Jason. There are too many memories trapped in this place. Painful memories of being a scared and hungry little boy hiding in a back booth while too exhausted to muster up the courage required to scavenge or steal his next meal, but then finding salvation waiting for him in the form of a simple cheeseburger along with a crooked smile from someone who knows exactly what suffering tastes like. More memories, kinder memories, linger in the shadows of sad recollections. The ghost of a teenage boy with a wide grin appears and vanishes again in Jason's peripheral vision - now a part of a home, a family, the happy boy is followed into the diner by another, older one with shaggy black hair in desperate need of a cut. Jason can still hear Dick laughing and telling him, _"slow down, little wing,"_ while promising that Jason can have as many milkshakes as he wants as long as Alfred never finds out about it.

_"It's our secret."_

Narrowing his eyes, Jason shoves the memories away. Or tries to. They cling to him. Tiny spider legs crawl up along his brain, spinning a web around his mind, and trapping him in what once was.

Jason hates, hates, hates it _so fucking much_ that he can remember the sound of Dick's laugh so clearly again. The years have muffled Dick's voice and dulled the affection in Dick's eyes, but being back in Gotham has reminded Jason why being abandoned by the people who supposedly loved him hurt so much.

Everything is coming back.

 

* * *

 

"It was adequate." Damian announces when he steps out of the diner and onto a blessedly quiet sidewalk.

The wind is particularly bad today and if the weather forecast is correct, more dreary rainclouds will be rolling along during the course of the day. Pushing his mussed-up hair out of his eyes, Damian glares threateningly; as if he could stop the power of nature through sheer willpower alone.

Jason can't hide his grin. Seeing Damian so obviously out of his element is endearing. It makes Jason want to pull Damian into an embrace, fold his arms around the kid and hold him, keep Damian safe from the wind and the rain, and everything else that would want to harm him.

Damian rolls his eyes when he notices the grin. He quickly zips up his hoodie and turns away as he asks, "Shall we head home?"

"What?" Jason blinks as he's pulled away from his fantasies. His hand shoots out, grabs Damian's arm, stopping him from walking away but earning a confused look for his efforts. "It's still early." Jason adds quickly. "We should go get an ice cream or something." He glances up and down street. "There used to be a really great ice cream place around here somewhere."

If the diner managed to stay open all these years, surely the small ice cream store Alfred not-so-secretly adored so much could still be open for business.

Damian frowns up at him, but doesn't pull his arm away. "The weather hardly seems appropriate for ice cream."

"Now is the best time to get some." Jason glances back at Damian. "Trust me."

"What's going on, Todd? Why are you acting so strange?" Damian asks. Once again he's managed to see right through Jason. It's dangerous having someone know him so well, but at the same time there's something comforting about it.

"It's a date, alright?" Jason sighs. He runs a nervous hand through his messy hair. "I'm taking you on a date because you've never been on one." Jason pauses, swallows heavily. " _I've_ never been on one."

Jason has had a number of sexual partners since his resurrection. A collection of nameless faces are taped to the back of his mind like some weird kind of mental scrapbook. All of them were meaningless flings meant to satisfy him physically if not emotionally. Then his relationship with Damian changed, and for the last three years the kid has been the closest thing Jason has ever had to a _boyfriend_ , but their way of life does not often open itself up to stupid little dates that are meant to be fun and nothing else.

Twenty-nine years old and he's never been on a date. Jason should probably find it sad, but he honestly never gave enough of a damn before. The only reason he's even trying now is because it's Damian, and Damian _matters_.

"Dating is a form of courtship, correct?" Damian asks while leaning his head to the side.

Sometimes Jason can't believe Damian is even real. The kid sounds like some kind of pompous lord from those Jane Austin novels Jason enjoyed reading as a kid (if Damian is Mr. Darcy, does that make Jason Elizabeth?), and Jason finds it increasingly amusing - endearing - that Damian sounds so much like an old English professor trapped in a much younger body.

"Yeah, I guess." Jason finally replies with a shrug.

Damian is smiling suddenly. "You should have said so, Beloved." His arms circle around Jason's waist, drawing the attention of more than a few curious onlookers, but none of them matter, and Damian doesn't seem to even notice them. "I've always been under the impression that a date would be more successful if both parties are aware that they are, in fact, on a date."

Jason huffs a laugh. "You got me there, gorgeous."

Leaning forward, bending down just as Damian tilting his head up has their lips meeting. What was supposed to be a quick peck quickly changes into something more intense, and soon enough Jason can feel the sting of disapproval on the back of his neck as their actions draw more attention. The ridiculousness of other people's judgments only has Jason kissing Damian harder, however.

Gotham is a host of too many bad memories. Thankfully Damian is both a shield to protect him and an anchor to keep him from drifting back into the agony of his past. Most importantly, Damian is a reminder of the purpose Jason has found in life. Damian's every breath is what Jason is fighting for.

Damian is the cure needed to soothe the sting of Jason's memories.

 

* * *

 

Long after the sun's dimmed glow has been swept away by the evening's cool shadows, the duo finally come stumbling through the front door of their temporary home. Or Damian comes stumbling in, balance completely gone to hell, while Jason makes sure, with increasing difficulty, that his young lover won't suddenly fall flat on his pretty face.

"I don't think I've ever seen you drunk before." Jason grunts.

Damian snorts through a series of unattractive giggles - genuine _giggles_ \- and begins leaning dangerously to the side. The arm he has around Jason's shoulders almost slips off, but Jason's own quick reflexes manage to keep Damian from falling on his ass.

"Mother does not..." Damian's lips smack together loudly as his mind slowly mulls over the words his tongue is trying to form. "Mother does not permit the excessive consumption of alcohol." His balance might be fucked, but at least the kid can still form a coherent sentence. It's adorable how Damian can still sound so prim even when his words are muffled and slightly slurring together.

"I know."

"My fingertips feel strange." Damian murmurs in absolute wonder. He has his free hand inches away from his face, and Damian is gaping as he moves it away then close again.

"Yeah that happens sometimes."

The date turned out to be a something of a success, or so Jason assumes. As he's never been on one before, he really has nothing else to compare it to. But Jason is feeling happier, more relaxed, than he has in quite some time. Damian makes him happy, and while this is no surprise, spending hours with him, with no League or Batman to worry about, has only made Jason realize how much of his happiness is wrapped up in Damian.

Ice cream was followed by a movie Damian couldn't stop asking questions about ("Why does he not simply travel back far enough in time and kill the adolescent version of his nemesis? Surely that would be more effective than traveling back-and-forth in time.") which almost got them kicked out. A slow walk in a park, as lovely as it was cliché, finally followed that. They eventually ended up in a bar of all places, and looking back Jason isn't entirely sure how that happened, but drunk Damian is a new kind of Damian, and Jason is happy that he got to see it at least once.

"I had fun today." Damian announces. Loudly. So loudly, in fact, that Jason winces despite his laugh.

"Glad to hear that, gorgeous." Jason replies. "C'mon let's get you to bed."

"No." Damian shakes his head. He moves his body around so that his chest is pressed up against Jason's own. "I saw people dancing." He whispers, glossy eyes gorgeous and hopeful, and Jason has to wonder where exactly his lover saw that as they were nowhere near a club, or any kind of place where anyone could dance. "And I want to dance." Damian blinks owlishly. "With you."

"You should really go to bed." Jason knows Damian's hangover will hit him hard in the morning. The sooner he gets to bed, the more time Damian will have to sleep it off.

"No." Damian whines. He leans even more into Jason, his cheek dropping against Jason's chest. Damian mumbles something as he begins swaying from side to side. It's no longer the drunk stumbling from earlier, but a rather dismal attempt at some kind of dancing.

And damn if it doesn't feel like Jason's heart is about to explode in his chest. It's exhausting, loving someone so much. It's made even worse by the fact that Jason can't seem to _stop_ falling more and more in love.

Grinning, Jason wraps his arms around Damian's shoulders. He presses a sweet kiss to the younger man's hair, and sways along with him.

Jason doesn't know how long they manage to keep it up, but eventually he realizes he's the only one actually moving, and that Damian has gone completely limp in his arms. So charmed by this unexpected, but entirely welcome display, Jason bends, hooks an arm below Damian's knees, and pulls the kid up into his arms. There's a happy kind of sigh escaping Damian's parted lips when his dark head settles below Jason's chin.

Holding Damian safe in his arms, Jason begins the short walk to their bedroom. He's so incredibly gentle as he places Damian down on the bed, and takes his time as he strips his lover before pulling a loose pair of sweats on him. Jason makes sure there's a large glass of water on his nightstand waiting for Damian when he wakes up, and that his path to the bathroom isn't hiding any kind of unexpected obstacles.

"You're gonna hate yourself in the morning." Jason mutters, amused, as he climbs onto the bed. He wastes no time folding himself around his lover, and adores the moment when Damian turns and snuggles into his heat instead of pulling away.

Being in Gotham has been like reliving a nightmare, but being here also means Jason now knows what it feels like to have Damian in his arms until morning. There's no one lurking around the corner, waiting for the opportunity to destroy this fragile peace they've created.

Jason has learned the hard way that nothing will last forever, but he'll hold on for as long as he possibly can to this impossible peace they've somehow managed to find together.


	7. when too close isn't close enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if Talia has any other aliases, and Google isn't being helpful, so I'm going with Miranda Tate from The Dark Knight Rises.

Jason would have tried to stop him if he knew what Damian had been planning.

 _"It's too risky,"_ Jason would have said. And coming from Jason - the man who thrives on _too risky_ \- that would be saying something indeed. So, doing the smart thing meant keeping his plans a secret; it meant playing his cards closer to his chest than Damian has before. When the time eventually came, Damian announced he would be doing a few hours of solo reconnaissance, before quickly disappearing into the night.

Technically Damian wasn't lying.

Hacking into the Wayne Foundation systems and adding one extra name to the guest list should never have been as easy as it was. Finding someone who could create an authentic-looking invitation proved to be more of a challenge, but with his mother's resources at his disposal, even that obstacle was overcome in time.

Damian Tate smiles, a charming upward turn of his lips, when he's allowed into the grand ballroom. Damian al Ghul scoffs, deep inside himself, and wonders how Batman always has the advantage over his enemies when it's so damn easy to sneak around under his nose.

Miranda Tate is an alias his mother has used throughout her life. As a successful and well-known businesswoman, her name would be a shield when curious guests begin asking too many personal questions. Speaking her name should be enough to divert attention to the legacy she has created and off of him.

Unlike Talia, Damian hasn't needed to take on a new given name when he is forced to be someone else. The name _Damian_ means absolutely nothing to anyone. Yet.

Having never really socialized with a group of insanely rich people before, Damian can admit to feeling somewhat nervous as he weaves between women in low-cut dresses and expensive diamonds, and finely-dressed men. The years of etiquette lessons keep the easy smile on Damian's face, however, and when a waitress carrying a tray of champagne approaches him, Damian grabs a flute and murmurs a kind of _thanks_ that has her blushing beautifully.

"Did you hear about Harvey Dent?"

" _Everyone's_ heard about Harvey Dent."

Two women are huddled close, whispering, voices colored by the kind of morbid curiosity that only comes from believing your money will keep you safe from that kind of pandemonium.

Oh, how shocked they'll be when The League's reckoning comes even for them. A new and wonderful world will be built on the ashes and bones of these disgusting people. When Damian takes his place as a conquering hero, money will never be able to save them again.

"Do you think Batman will find the killer?" The younger of the women asks while clutching the pearls around her neck.

"The killer did us all a favor, so I hope not." The other replies.

"You don't mean that!" _Pearls_ gasps, looking suitably horrified.

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it." Her friend sneers.

It's only been a week since Dent's execution and Gotham is already panicking. The unknown monster lurking deep in the shadows has neighbor turning on neighbor as opinions are split between believing Dent finally got what he deserved, and that he should have, once again, been handled by Gotham's ineffective legal system.

The bat signal has been shining every night, but even the reminder of their protector's constant vigilance has done little to quell the ever-growing dread.

Grinning, Damian wanders away. He would love listening to their brewing argument, but Damian is here for a reason beyond seeing the delightful effect his actions have had.

Finding Bruce Wayne is easy. In person, the man seems to be larger than life. None of the limited amount of captured footage Damian has seen over the years have done him any kind of justice.

Tall and, what one would consider classically handsome, Bruce commands attention even when he's not the one doing the talking. His thick black hair is swept up and away from his high forehead, and with not even a single strand out of place, he does, indeed, look like some kind of prince. The lazy grin on his face, the ever-amused curl of his lips, has everyone around him feeling relaxed. Damian can understand, in that moment, why Talia was so incredibly enamored once. There is a magnetism to Bruce that is hard to ignore.

Hidden and woven into this playboy persona is the very intensity that makes Batman so powerful.

Even when Bruce is living it up as a carefree rich boy, the Bat isn't very far behind. And, unlike the many people laughing around him, Damian can see the long, thin fractures forming in the man's mask.

The casual way Bruce's shoulders roll occasionally is supposed to disguise the alert tension in his muscles. The happiness in blue eyes dazzles and diverts attention away from how Bruce's gaze darts between the room's many unprotected exits. The constructed nonchalance would fool most people, but unlike everyone around him, Damian isn't a self-deluded fool too preoccupied by his own importance. Damian has been trained to watch - to _see_ \- what the body has to say when a person's lips speak no words.

Bruce Wayne is uncomfortable, and absolutely no one else can tell.

Damian smirks, so very amused.

Then Bruce is looking at him, and Damian suddenly feels like he's been undone. His own defenses feel like they're being burned away, so easily, by brilliant blue eyes.

There is no obvious change in his father's behavior except the way his eyes narrow ever so slightly. Damian knew when he began planning this meeting that something about himself would make Bruce feel uneasy, and he wonders, morbidly curious, what that something is. Is Bruce plagued by shadows of a younger version of himself, or is he seeing painful echoes of a woman he once loved?

Either way, Damian straightens himself to his full height (which he soon realizes is still far below Bruce's own) and breathes in deeply, calming a sudden rush of nerves, when the man approaches.

"I don't believe we've met." Bruce is only a few feet away from him now. His large hand is outstretched and waiting. "Bruce Wayne."

Damian takes the offered hand, and curls his fingers around it. The grip is powerful, secure, but somehow not in a domineering way.

"Damian Tate." Damian replies and thanks years of accumulated training for keeping his voice so steady.

"Tate." The name rolls pleasantly on Bruce's tongue. "Any relation to Miranda Tate?"

"She's my mother."

"That explains it." Bruce laughs. There are small, barely there wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. "Your mother is a remarkable woman, Damian. Tell her I would really like to meet her one day."  

How amused Talia would be if she ever found out about her _beloved's_ desire to meet Miranda.

It feels odd being so close to the man who unknowingly helped bring him into the world; the man he is supposed to kill soon. Damian always imagined their first meeting would involve more punching and fewer handshakes, but this is calm, so normal, and Damian isn't sure if he's disappointed or relieved. Then again, wasn't the reason he arranged all this so he could see a version of his father that wasn't driven by his own personal demons? Damian wanted, just once, to simply see the man whose blood flowed in his veins without anyone else interfering.

"How are you enjoying the evening, Damian?"

The way Bruce says his name makes Damian feel weak. Kind, warm, so unlike he's supposed to be. His name is supposed to be a curse on the Dark Knight's lips - it _should_ be spoken with venom and hate.

"It's been quite interesting."

Bruce is laughing again. "You don't have to lie. I know these things are dull."

Damian feels a genuine smile spreading across his face. The smile Damian is given in return carries traces of his own in its corners, and Damian's vision spins, for a second, as he takes it in.

And then it vanishes, just as quickly as it came, when they're interrupted by someone Damian should have expected but, in his foolishness, never prepared himself for.

Tim Drake. Jason's replacement, and a pretender sitting upon a throne that should, by rights, be Damian's.

"Here you are." Tim breathes, relieved, looking up at Bruce, never even realizing someone else is there. Damian scowls, gritting his teeth, and marveling at the indignity of being ignored by someone so beneath him. "I memorized the speech," Tim continues on without pause, "and I'm like ninety percent sure my jokes are actually funny this time. Alfred seemed to like them, but I'm never sure if that's a good or a bad thing."

"It'll be fine." Bruce chuckles, claps a hand on Tim's shoulder. "This is Damian Tate. Damian, this is my son Tim."

The words echo in Damian's ears - _"this is my son Tim,"_ \- even as Tim's eyes widens and he apologizes, with an awkward chuckle, for being so rude.

_"This is my son Tim."_

It's not like Damian is unaware of Tim having been legally adopted, but hearing it, seeing the smallest flash of pride in Bruce's eyes, is something Damian never prepared for.

It shouldn't matter to him, Damian's mind is screaming. He is an al Ghul - a god walking among men - so if Bruce chooses to sully the Wayne name by taking in a lowly pretender then that is his mistake to make. But, _oh god_ , it feels so much like an impossibly heavy weight is pressing down onto him, and Damian can't breathe, his chest tightening, like it's being crushed.

"Are you alright?"

Damian blinks, inhales quickly, and sees Tim looking at him, blue eyes shining with concern. It sickens Damian.

"Yes." Damian replies, and it's suddenly so much harder keeping his voice steady. How humiliating that a pretender could weaken him so quickly and without even _trying_. His mother, his grandfather, would both be ashamed.

"Well," Tim grins up at Bruce, "I'm going to find some more liquid courage before I have to get up on that stage."

"Don't overdo it, Tim." Bruce warns, but he's still smiling.

"Yeah, yeah..." Tim laughs and, with a careful smile thrown in Damian's direction, wanders off.

Damian doesn't know why he does it, why he wants to twist the knife a little more, but he finds himself asking, "you must be very proud?" before he can even think about swallowing the words and burying them deep inside himself.

"I am." And that, Damian knows, is no lie.

"Do you have any other children?" Damian asks as his mind screams _shut up, shut up, you damn fool_.

"My daughter, Cassandra, is around here somewhere," Bruce replies easily, "And Dick is a cop back in Blüdhaven."

No mention of Jason, and Damian feels a new kind of fury ignite the blood in his veins. Abandoned completely, like he never even existed, and Damian wants to lash out at the man standing across from him, wrap his hands around Bruce's neck and _squeeze_ , as he screams, voice shattering like his heart is, that Bruce never deserved to even know Jason and that he should have done more for him, that he should have somehow known that Jason was alive.

Damian wants to scream that Bruce should also have known that he has a biological son.

"Do you have any siblings, Damian?" Bruce asks. Not because he cares, Damian knows, but because he's being _polite._ Everything about their exchange has been a lie - Bruce is digging for information, and he's trying to catch more flies with honey.

Damian will not be duped by Bruce's false kindness again. This is a war, after all.

"No." Damian answers. He has clones, never siblings.

All of his clones are in cryogenic stasis, sleeping and ready, should Damian fail. It was his grandfather's idea and most people would have been horrified to learn the truth, but Damian knows he's an investment. All investments should always have a backup plan.

"Excuse me." Damian murmurs. He's learned enough, and needs to get away before he does something foolish.

The bathroom is mercifully quiet when Damian enters. He empties his champagne down the drain, places the glass on the countertop, and then leans over the sink while trying to get his nerves under control again.

He should never have come here. He naively believed he would gain strength by knowing more, but now Damian feels weak and wounded when he shouldn't even give a damn.

Jason would have warned him.

The door opens suddenly and, when Damian looks up, he finds Tim walking in. Is there no reprieve in this world, Damian thinks and clenches his hands around marble.

"Oh, hey. Damian, was it?" Tim pauses for a second, but then walks in like he belongs there. He wastes no time heading for one of the nearby urinals. "You feeling okay?"

There's a sound of a zipper being lowered, which is soon followed by the sound of Tim relieving himself. Damian grits his teeth.

"I am unwell." Damian admits. He hopes by being honest the man will move on and leave him alone. How dare he think Damian would even want his false pity?

"Hn," Again a zipper is heard, "Hope it wasn't something you ate."

Tim suddenly beside him. Washing his hands, water splashes over pale skin, and Damian finds himself staring at the man. Tim is very good looking, pretty even. With his inky black hair and pretty blue eyes, Tim fits in so well with the image Bruce has painted. And Damian realizes, quite suddenly, how out of place he would have looked if he'd grown up in the shadow of the three boys who came before him. There are obvious and undeniable traces of his father in him but, when looking at himself now, Damian finally sees how much he's come to resemble his mother. Impossibly thick eyelashes compliment his forest green eyes, making them stand out. His darker skin would always have been a reminder that he belongs in a desert's warmth, and not this cold tomb people call a city.

Damian would never have belonged. Why does that thought hurt so much?

"I hope you don't mind me asking," Tim pipes up suddenly, "but you're not originally from around here, are you?"

"What gave me away?" Damian asks.

"You have a hint of a foreign accent," Tim replies, smiling, "It's barely noticeable, but it's still there."

"I suppose I should inform mother to have my English tutor executed." Damian finds himself frowning. "She always insisted that there be no accent."

Tim laughs loudly. Damian wisely keeps his tutor's real fate to himself. Like many of the others, the man was killed when his services were no longer required. Keeping them alive would have posed too much of a risk as they were allowed to see too much.

Damian swallows heavily. He steps away and, when he takes in how vulnerable Tim is, knows it would be so quick and easy to end his miserable existence. Tim is good, there is no denying it, but Damian doesn't imagine it would be so hard to overpower him.

He can see it all. He can see how his hand would sink into Tim's hair, wonders how silky strands would feel knotted between his fingers. Damian imagines how he would smash Tim's face against the mirror, cracking both the glass and, hopefully, Tim's skull. Then when the man is bloodied and dazed, Damian would pull out the knife strapped to his ankle. He would press up against Tim, see the fear in his eyes and then, without warning, slide the blade across Tim's throat, severing his jugular. There would be so much blood spilling from his wound as Tim slowly sinks to the floor. Damian would stare, soak it all in, as the life faded out of the pretender's eyes.

"Wish me luck." Tim says as he begins drying his hands. "I hate giving speeches."

Damian blinks as he's so cruelly pulled from his fantasy. He nods, and watches Tim leave. Damian allows a few more minutes to make sure he's regained his composure before following Tim out.

He wanders out in the middle of Tim's speech. All traces of the awkward man worrying about his jokes are completely gone. The man giving the speech is calm, confident, and the people listening are mesmerized. He's fooled them all, including Damian himself.

Behind Tim is Bruce and Cassandra. The man has one arm wrapped around his daughter's shoulders while looking at Tim with eyes that are astonishingly warm and tender. The unforgiving anger Damian has always believed is a permanent part of his father is simply missing.

Swallowing the ridiculous lump forming in his throat, Damian turns and walks out. He's learned everything he needed to know.


	8. a job that slowly kills you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight scenes are hard. :(

The man - or _murdering asshole_ as Jason likes to call him - won't stop blubbering. Thick and heavy tears run down scruffy cheeks, and he's begging for mercy while his body quakes from his violent sobs. It's admittedly a step up from the horrified screaming he did earlier, when his buddy found himself on the other end of Damian's sword, but it's still annoying enough that it has Jason's jaw clenching as a headache begins blooming behind his eyes.

The idiot has cornered himself, his back pressed against a grimy wall. Damian is standing a few feet away from him, and with his cloak's hood up and sword in hand, its silver blade discolored by deep crimson, Damian looks like some kind of unholy avenger. Whenever Damian moves so much as an inch, _murdering asshole_ begins whimpering pitifully through his many tears.

"Tt." Damian turns away with a look of loathing on his face. "We will get nothing from this coward."

Hopping off the dumpster he's been sitting on (he'll need a scalding shower when they get home) Jason frees one of his handguns from its holster, which means even more sniveling, and claps a hand on Damian's shoulder as he passes him by.

"Let me handle this, gorgeous."

Damian scoffs, but makes no move to stop him.

The man's begging, stuttered pleas of _"oh god no please no,"_ becomes more distressed as Jason slowly walks towards him. Someone who works as an enforcer for Black Mask really should have more backbone, Jason thinks. Maybe the pool of delinquents willing to do all the dirty work is drying up, and this poor fool is the scrap left at the bottom of the barrel. Or maybe the bastard has never been challenged before, always punching down, feeling like a big man when threatening kids and old ladies, and now his real spinelessness has finally come out in the face of people better and stronger than him. Whatever the case may be, it's getting on Jason's nerves, and he shushes the man, gently, while patting the moron's stubbly cheek with a free hand.

"Look, I'm gonna be honest here," Jason says, voice uncharacteristically kind, "You're gonna die tonight, but it's _how_ you die that matters. A bullet through the brain beats being skewered like a kebab, right?" The man's terrified eyes flicker to his accomplice's dead body. A moan crawls out his throat when he remembers his friend's agonized mewling as he lay dying. "So why don't you tell me where your boss has been hiding since his little _lover's tiff_ with Penguin and I'll make sure your insides don't get to find out what my friend's sword feels like."

"Nice speech," Someone pipes up from above them, and when Jason looks up, he finds none other than Robin, his goddamn replacement, standing on the building's fire escape, "Do bad guys have a school where they teach _most cliché villainous speeches ever_ , or does it just come naturally?"

"Comes naturally." Jason replies easily. "Aren't you a little too old to be playing Boy Wonder?"

He steps back, away from the goon, draws his other gun and aims both of his weapons at Tim. Damian has his sword ready, and if Jason wasn't so focused on Tim, he would have noticed Damian lowering his hood even more, obscuring his face further.

Tim's eyes go comically wide behind his domino mask, the white of his lenses stretching. "Jason Todd?" He asks, voice wispy from shock. "You're dead."

It shouldn't surprise Jason that Tim knows who he is, or that the twerp can recognize him even now, but he still feels taken aback. No doubt Bruce drilled him into Tim's head - _"don't be the same screw up, Tim,"_ \- while holding a photo of Jason inches away from his face.

There is a flicker of something uncomfortable in Jason's heart, his belly, every nerve. He knew they would eventually recognize him, and Jason had looked forward to shoving their greatest failure back into their faces, but he feels no triumph now, only a sick kind of apprehension burrowing into his bones.

"Yeah, death? Not as permanent as you'd expect." Jason replies with a false sense of bravado.

" _You're_ behind all this?" Tim asks as he hops down the fire escape in a few acrobatic moves that absolutely scream Dick Grayson. "You killed Two Face?"

"I can't take all the credit." Jason sees Tim's attention move to Damian, and eventually the sword.

"Tt."  

" _Why!?_ " Tim cries, sounding horrified. "You're _Robin_! You're a hero, not a murderer!"

"What the hell do you know, Boy Blunder?" If Jason were anyone he would be shaking. A buzzing has started in his ears, and it suddenly feels too much like those few seconds before that warehouse went up in flames.

"I know you had a crappy childhood, and I know you managed to rise above your criminal father and drug-addicted mother." Tim is moving, carefully, along the alley's wall, towards Black Mask's thug. "I know you were murdered, and that Batman hasn't been the same since. Most importantly, I know the boy who wore this symbol before me," Tim presses his hand against the _R_ on his chest, "would never have gone around murdering people."

"Enough of this." Damian snaps. Jason's voice has died in his throat.

Tim grabs the goon's arm and pulls him away from the wall. He then moves them back along the wall towards the street the alley opens up to. The goon is babbling all the way - voice rough, he goes on and on about never believing a day would come where he'd be happy to see Robin.

Both Damian and Jason watch, neither making a move, and when Tim and his new _friend_ are out of immediate danger, he shoves the idiot towards the street and snaps, "Get out of here."

And that's when Tim learns how deadly Damian is even when someone is no longer within easy reach. The man has spun around, is running, a grin spreading across his face as he sees his freedom, when suddenly he cries out and drops to the ground like a stone. A throwing knife sticks out of the back of his neck - blood wells up around the edge of the wound, and begins dripping down his neck and soaking his dirty jacket.

A surprised yelp is Tim's only reaction for a few seconds. When Tim eventually turns back to face them, there is a terrible kind rage settling into every nerve in his body.

"You didn't really think I was going to let him go, did you?" Damian sounds impossibly smug, and Jason knows he's reveling in having taken Tim by surprise.

"You're a monster." Tim hisses as he pulls his collapsible bo staff from the belt around his waist.

"You have no idea what kind of monster I can be."

Damian stalks forward. He's twirling his sword, wrist moving with practiced ease. The blade makes sharp swishing sounds as it cuts through air, and becomes louder as Damian's speed increases.

Tim readies himself for the coming attack. He carefully moves his feet into a defensive stance. With a flick of his wrist, his bo staff opens, increasing in length as both ends snap out. In a show of his own skill, Tim moves it with a trained curl of his wrist so that one end is tucked between his feet. With his arm outstretched and hand before him, Tim waits.

It happens so quickly. Damian's blade comes down just as Tim kicks the end of his staff up so he can grab it with the hand that was held before him. He steps closer to Damian, and brings the staff above his head just in time to successfully block the blow.

Damian gives Tim no room to breathe. He's already planned his second, third, and fourth move before even executing his first. He drops to one knee, swinging his sword low, and aiming for Tim's shins, forcing the other man to block low. They immediately rock away from one another, each straightening up again, and then come together once more, sword and staff clashing with a loud _clang_ that echoes throughout the whole alley.

It's like some kind of twisted dance, and they both know the steps perfectly.

"Who are you?" Tim asks. His voice is strained, jaw clenched, as he uses all his strength to keep his staff up against Damian's sword.

"You won't live long enough for it to matter." Damian snarls in reply.

Damian is a few inches taller than Tim, and is using his extra height as a way press Tim down and back. Soon enough Damian realizes that Tim is stronger than he looks, and he'll only give in for a few inches. Forced to reevaluate, Damian moves away and thrusts his sword forward, aiming for Tim's gut. But Tim is prepared, and takes a careful but quick step back, putting as much space between them as possible. He then swipes his staff forward and to the side, blocking the strike.

Jason knows he could - _should_ \- end this fight right here. One well-aimed shot could cripple Tim; could easily help Damian put an end to the replacement's worthless life. But Jason finds he can't move. His feet are stuck to the ground, arms heavy at his sides, and mind foggy, heavy, as Tim's words spin around in his head.

Tim is twirling his staff as he quickly backs away, effectively keeping Damian from striking. Damian keeps moving forward nonetheless. His own steps are careful, and Damian sees _it_. The very second Tim's stance changes - the moment Tim decides to stop backing away and to attack instead - Damian is ready, their weapons once again coming together with a hard clash.

Seizing the opportunity Tim has unwillingly given him, Damian flicks his wrist, twisting his blade so the flat of it is pressed against the staff. With one had keeping the blade steady, Damian forces the tip of Tim's staff down, their bodies bending slightly to the side in the momentum.

Damian has always been fast, his speed often coming in handy when he can't overpower an enemy with strength alone, but now he moves like lightning, faster than Jason can remember him ever being. In a flash Damian swipes his sword up, away from the staff, and swings it towards Tim's neck, hoping to decapitate him right then and there.

Turns out Tim is just as fast - perhaps even faster - and manages to duck seconds before the blade can cleave through his neck. Damian follows him down, spinning on his heel, sword out and once again aiming for Tim's legs, but Tim knows what's coming and jumps over it, once more escaping the razor-sharp edge of Damian's blade.

The small, blink and you miss it moment Damian's back is turned to him is all Tim needs. He thrusts his leg out in a swift kick, pushing Damian forward and away when the heel of his boot connects with the small of Damian's back. Damian stumbles forward, stops himself from falling with one hand, his palm slamming down against the ground and, using his body's momentum, rolls forward and back up to his feet.

The few seconds of imbalance is all Tim needs. He smacks the one end of his staff down hard against the ground, wastes no time as the staff's ends retract, and pulls the grappler from his utility belt. With one final look thrown in Jason's direction, Tim aims high and fires.

Damian gives a vicious growl as he watches Tim's wing-like cape disappear over the edge of the rooftop. He turns when Tim is completely out of view, and pulls his hood off as he stalks over to Jason in quick, angry strides.

"What the _hell_ , Todd?"

Jason blinks when he snaps out of the daze that kept him firmly locked in place. "What?" He asks while holstering his weapons.

"You just _stood_ there like an idiot!"

"I didn't know you needed my help winning a fight." Jason snaps.

Damian opens his mouth to say something, but then pauses. He slowly sheathes his blade as his eyes narrow in contemplation. "He got under your skin, didn't he?"

"You don't know what you're talking about." It feels like needles are prickling at his skin. His breathing feels shallow, too shallow, and Jason's voice is barely a whisper.

"One mention of who you used to be, and the fool managed to utterly undo you." Damian scoffs. His words and voice are vicious; meant to wound. "If you can't do what must be done, Todd, then leave before you become a liability."

The violence that has been inching closer to the surface since Tim's arrival finally flares up. In a sudden burst of speed, taking them both by surprise, Jason grabs Damian and curls his fists around the thick material of Damian's cloak. He spins them around, slamming Damian back against the wall with a growl. Jason hears the surprised gasp hit the back of Damian's throat. He hears the way the back of Damian's head hits the wall with an awful _crack_ , and is something Jason swears he can feel in his bones.

It should make him feel awful - should have him backing away and begging for forgiveness - but it only serves to make him angrier.

"You don't know shit." Jason snarls. He leans closer, faces inches apart. "What happened here tonight? It won't happen again. The next time we meet, that fucker eats a bullet." Pushing himself away from Damian, Jason stalks down the alley and never looks back, missing the surprise brimming in green eyes.


	9. when ghosts come out to play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said Friday, but I managed to finish part 9 sooner than I thought I would.

In the streets below, Joker is putting up a show. He's spinning around and wiggling his hips, the coattails of his ugly purple suit flapping around when he moves around. The painted grin on his twisted face stretches even wider while his goons, all of them in similar clown make-up and gaudy clothing, look on in confused wonder.

Joker keeps dancing even as some poor screaming fool is pulled from what looks like a clown car (how predictable) and, when the newest victim is brought to his knees before the clown, Joker finally brings an end to his ridiculous dancing. He pulls out a gun from the inside of his jacket and laughs, long and hard, when he promptly shoots the man in the leg. The fool's screaming goes up a level while Joker's cackling becomes more maniacal.

The only thing missing from this perverse picture is Harley Quinn. Once she would have been prancing around, her baseball bat slung over one shoulder, while encouraging her _puddin'_ in his violence. But word on the street is Harley saw the light a few years ago, dumped abusive _Mistah J_ , and has since then shacked up with Poison Ivy.

Jason watches closely from his position on a rooftop at the opposite end of the street. His eyes are narrowed, shoulders stiff, and his fingers twitch, itch with the powerful need to get down there and put a bullet in that laughing face.

It's not time yet, Jason has to remind himself. He clenches his hands into tight fists while promising himself that the clown will be the one doing the screaming soon enough. A bullet to the head would be too good for the man who tortured and murdered him. No... Joker deserves to feel the same pain he has so joyously inflicted on others over the years. By the time Jason is done with him, there will barely be anything of The Joker left.

The idea of ending Joker's miserable existence is enough to have Jason smiling a little, and even a few more seconds of murderer's ridiculous prancing doesn't make it disappear. The quirk to Jason's lips remains when the wounded man's screaming becomes too annoying, and Joker puts his gun to the man's head. There's one second of nothing before Joker pulls the trigger and blows his brains out on a dirty street corner.

The smile disappears after the gun goes off, and Jason hates how he cringes. For a brief second, Joker's gun sounded far too much like an explosion.

Jason breathes in through his nose in an attempt to calm the trembling that has started in his bones. He's no longer the same kid who could be hurt so easily, Jason reminds himself. He's come too far. He's seen and done too much since his resurrection, and he'll _never_ be a victim again.

Once Jason has his vengeance, he can finally let go of the ghost that has been haunting him for years. He'll be able to focus on his future. A future with The League. With Damian.

Damian.

They've barely spoken since that night in the alley. Damian has been avoiding him, and when he's forced to be in the same room with Jason, his green eyes are haunted with a kind of pain that only comes with betrayal.

His temper has always been a problem, even before the pit warped his mind in ways Jason is still trying to recover from. But even when he attacked everyone else, even when he hated everyone else, Jason has never lashed out at Damian. Until now.

Jason hates what he did. He's tried to make things right again, but whenever Jason tries to apologize, the words catch in his throat and trip over his tongue while the silence between them becomes heavier.

There's no time to dwell on his relationship troubles, Jason reminds himself. Not now, anyway. When Joker is dead, when the spreading fire of hate in his veins is finally doused, and Jason's ghosts have finally been laid to rest, then he'll make the amends he needs to. He'll get on his knees if he has to. He'll do anything and everything needed to reassure Damian that he is Jason's reason for existing. No one will ever be able to get under his skin again - not Bruce and _definitely_ not his replacement.

Down below the clown begins threatening a few of his thugs when none of them laugh at the dead body on the ground. He's hurling his gun at the nearest goon and pauses for a few seconds, disappointed that it didn't go off, before finally climbing into the car.

"I know you're there." Jason announces as he watches the car disappear down the street.

When he turns around, Jason sees a figure step out of the shadows.

Dick, or Nightwing since he's dressed in regular his black and blue, pauses just as he steps into the light. It's amazing how young Dick still looks. In his mid thirties, one would expect Dick to seem noticeably different, but all Jason sees is the same young man who always had an encouraging grin and a warm hug ready.

Their relationship was complicated back in the day. Living in Dick Grayson's gigantic shadow isn't a fate Jason would wish on anyone. Feeling like he always had something to prove meant Jason wasn't always the sweet younger brother everyone probably thought he should have been, but Jason can admit that he'd loved the older boy, and by the end, Dick had become an important part of his life.

Funny how quickly and easily things could change.

"Jason." Dick breathes his name like it's salvation on his lips. He looks like the space between is physically painful. "When Tim told us you're alive, I..." Dick moves closer, but stops immediately when Jason pulls his guns out and aims them right at him.

"One step closer and I blow that pretty little head off, Dickiebird."

Dick holds up his hands in a show of peace. The quick show of surrender has Jason growling.

"What happened to you, little wing?"

"What do you _think_ happened to me!?" Jason's voice hitches, and cracks into a scream. He shouldn't get so worked up, but the trembling in his bones has moved into his muscles and it's an awful moment when Jason realizes how much his _family_ still hurts him.

Dick's head lowers in shame. His own voice seems shaky when he asks, "How are you--,"

"Alive?" Jason laughs and it's a bitter sound crawling up his throat. "Don't pretend you give a shit." Dick's head snaps up and a protest is already on his lips, but Jason won't hear it. "All you need to know is Batman's greatest disappointment has come back to haunt him."

"You were never a disappointment!" Dick cries, and there once would have been a time when Jason would have believed him. Now it's one more lie to add to an already impressive list. "You have _no idea_ how close your loss came to destroying Batman."

"Then why is that homicidal fucker still breathing!?"

Dick swallows hard. "You know why."

"Yeah, Batman's _one rule._ " Jason moves closer, and feels a rush of excitement when Dick doesn't back away from him. He's taller than Dick now, Jason realizes. "Here's the thing, Dickless, I always thought we meant more to him than his stupid rule." When they're just inches away from each other, Jason pushes one of his guns up against Dick's forehead. "Guess the joke's on me."

A mad grin has spread across his face. There's a giddiness flaring up inside him as he curls his finger over the trigger.

"Do you want to kill me, little wing?" Dick asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm tempted, yeah."

How devastated would Bruce be if Jason killed his golden boy? Would Dick's murder be his undoing? Would it finally push Bruce into doing the one thing he was never willing to do for Jason? If Jason's murder _came close_ to destroying him then Dick's would probably do so completely. In a _you can only save one_ kind of scenario, Jason knows exactly who Bruce would have picked and it's never been him.

It would be so easy to find out how much Bruce can bend before he breaks.

"Then do it." Dick hisses. "C'mon, Jay... If you wanna kill me for never breaking Joker's neck like I should have _then fucking do it_."

The domino mask's white lenses are obscuring Dick's eyes, but Jason doesn't need to see them to know his bright blue eyes have darkened.

"I will kill you," Jason promises, and Dick sucks in a loud breath, "but not now," and just like that, Jason steps away from Dick, "I'll make sure to do it when Batman can watch the life slip out of you."

Dick's shoulders sag. "Come home with me, Jason." He begs, hands lifting and reaching for Jason, but the younger man is already out of his reach. "Please."

"No thanks, golden boy." Jason holsters his weapons, and continues on to the edge of the roof. "I stopped being cannon fodder for Bruce's war a long time ago."

" _Jason_." Dick has never, in Jason's memory, sounded so hurt before. He wonders if Dick is feeling the supposed pain of his loss all over again.

He winks, grin still in place, steps off the roof and allows himself to fall away.  


	10. what lies beneath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part was actually written months ago, so this fic is still on hold. I'm really, really, really sorry about that, and as soon as I'm done with the project I'm working on, I hope to get back to this and finish it. Furthermore, I would just like to say thanks to everyone who's commented, left kudos, or bookmarked. I really appreciate it. :)

Damian quickly dips his head low when the couple strolls by. He turns his face into his sweatshirt's hood, which has been pulled up over his dark hair, hiding enough of himself so he won't draw the man's attention. It's an unnecessary move perhaps - Bruce is so focused on the woman hanging on his arm, the teasing grin on his handsome face making him look years younger, that Damian wonders if Bruce is even capable of noticing anything else beyond the way the woman's eyes seem to sparkle whenever she looks up at him.  
  
Of course he is, Damian reconsiders as he keeps his face turned away. This moment of downtime is pretending - lies built upon even more lies. This woman, one more pretty face, is just more stitching on the carefully-constructed mask created to protect Batman, but even when Brucie Wayne charms and dazzles his many girlfriends, the Bat is always aware of his surroundings.     
  
There are no second chances; no room to let his guard down. One wrong move and everything Damian has been planning will crumble in his clenched fists.  
  
When the couple is far enough down the street, Damian looks up at them. He drops the magazine he was pretending to flip through back on the stand - doesn't miss the glare the vendor sends his way - and slowly trails behind them.    
  
_This is a bad idea, kid_ , the Jason in his head rumbles.  
  
Damian tells him to shut up.  
  
Imaginary Jason does have a point, though. Damian isn't sure why he's even wasting his time with this. There's nothing to gain from following Bruce around on one of his dates.  
  
But maybe, just _maybe_ , this isn't about gaining tactical information he could use against Bruce one day, and more about something Damian has never allowed himself to admit before.  
  
The couple pauses outside a coffee shop, and Damian has to walk by them so he won't seem suspicious. Damian stops a few feet away from them and bends down so he can pretend to tie his shoelaces. He listens - listens as Bruce suggests they head inside and get something warm to drink. The woman, and Damian has no idea who she is and neither does he care, laughs and comments on how sweet Bruce is before kissing him.  
  
Damian frowns, annoyed. He can only tie his shoelaces for so long before he starts looking suspicious, and he has no time for this woman's show of appreciation. A new plan begins forming in his mind, quickly running through his limited options in his mind. He could get up, move on, pull his cell phone out and pretend to be busy with it. The new distraction would be enough to justify his slower walk, and would hopefully be enough to fool Bruce. Walking slowly would mean he could still keep an eye on them, and change his plans according to what the pair decides.  
  
It's not necessary, however. Before Damian can pull himself up, the woman pulls away from his father and, giggling, heads inside. Bruce follows closely behind. Damian decides to wait. He alters the plan, pulls his phone out, pretending to send a text and gives them enough time to find a table and settle down. Minutes tick by, and when Damian is sure he's safe, he stuffs the phone in his front pocket and heads inside the coffee shop.  
  
It's a nice enough place that the waiter frowns at Damian's choice of sweatshirt and jeans, but not nice enough that they would throw him out for not being dressed up enough. The establishment is relatively empty during the mid afternoon hours, and Damian spots Bruce and his date easily enough. The table he's taken to isn't far away from them, giving Damian a perfect view of the couple. He can also hear traces of their conversation trickling over to him.  
  
Damian orders a simple coffee. While not as delicious as the coffee brewed back home by al Ghul servants, Damian has come to learn that it's better than the tea these establishments offer. Tea in a bag, what kind of barbaric custom is this?  
  
Damian can hear Jason laughing at him. He frowns, gut clenching painfully, and tries not to think about Jason.  
  
It's surprisingly easy to push thoughts of Jason from his mind. It turns out that Bruce is enough of a distraction.    
  
For years Damian has kept this secret buried inside him, never letting it out, never acknowledging its existence. He thought coming to this city would mean keeping that secret locked inside himself, but now, in the privacy of his own mind, away from his mother's expectant gaze and his grandfather's spidery fingers controlling his every move, Damian can admit the one thing he never was allowed to as a child.  
  
He wants to know who Bruce Wayne really is.  
  
Questions about Bruce were never encouraged. The most Damian ever got out of his mother was finding out that Batman is his father, and even then he'd had to fight for it, duel after duel ended in a loss until, finally, on his tenth birthday, he bested his own mother and she, reluctantly, revealed the truth to him. Even then she'd only given him a single name: Batman. Damian had to piece the rest together himself, and when he did, when he made the connection, any and all questions about Bruce were silenced.  
  
Damian can understand his mother's reasons. Bruce betrayed her, hurt her in ways that still made her bones ache, deep and hollow. For his mother's sake and wounded heart he pretended not to care about the man behind the mask. He pretended that the fantasies in his mind, made more powerful whenever Damian felt at his weakest, weren't real.  
  
The woman laughs suddenly, and Damian blinks. Her pretty mouth is stretched wide, her eyes narrowed in pleasure, adding to her beauty. Her smile becomes more gentle when Bruce's hand settles over hers.  
  
Wondering if Bruce ever touched his mother like that sends a short spike of pain lancing through Damian's heart. Did he ever look at Talia with such unadulterated affection? Did he ever touch her in ways that were both gentle and adoring?  
  
Did Bruce ever love Talia?  
  
Would things have been different if they, somehow, managed to stay together? Would Damian still exist - made not to fulfill some grand purpose, but out of love instead?  
  
What would it have been like to grow up without the burden of destiny hanging over him, and instead as a normal boy loved by both parents, not for who he's supposed to be, but simply for who he _is_?  
  
The answer, Damian fears, will be forever out of reach. A hypothetical dream smothered by the crushing weight of reality.


	11. thanks for the memories (even though they weren't so great)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to squeeze this out recently and decided to upload it because, while not as perfect as I'd like, it's good enough for now. If anyone's still following this fic, I'm so damn sorry that this is taking so long to finish.

"I'm sensing some anger here," Joker says before Jason swings the crowbar he's been clutching in his hand.

 

The slab of metal whacks Joker across the jaw. There's a sickening _crack_ , a burst of laughter from the crazy fucker, before Joker is falling, falling, _falling_ and hitting the concrete floor of the warehouse.

 

Jason's chest is heaving, and he tightens his grip around the crowbar, stares down at Joker, and the hate inside him intensifies, grows, until it's a monster all on its own. Until that black hate is threatening to crawl up every muscle inside him, through every vein, up his lungs and throat and out his mouth to become manifest.

 

He'd hoped there would be more of Joker's men around for him to kill, but the freak had been surprisingly lax in his security, sending most of his painted clowns off to cause havoc in the city.

 

Big mistake.

 

"That was a good one, kid!" Joker laughs again, pushes himself up on his elbow and grins up at Jason. The stretch of his painted mouth, the yellowing teeth, the absolute _hilarity_ in his eyes has Jason shuddering and stalking forward to deliver a swift kick to Joker's side.

 

His boot connects and Jason feels, or imagines he does, a few ribs cracking, and Joker's hysterical laughing gives way to a few shuddering gasps before continuing again. The laughter, the very thing that has haunted Jason for _years_ echoes in his ears, spins in his mind, and it's like Jason's mind goes blank, like he can't think or feel and his body is moving completely on auto-pilot as he kicks and hits until Joker is a bloody shuddering mess at his feet.

 

"How does it feel to have almost every bone in your body broken?" Jason asks eventually when he's calmed down enough again to stop, when his muscles ache

 

Joker laughs brokenly, but it quickly shatters into wet coughing. The blood flecking his thin painted lips is a sign that a rib has most likely pierced one of his lungs. "Feels pretty good, actually." Joker laughs again.

 

"Tonight you die, you fucking freak. Tonight I chop you up into little pieces--,"

 

"So _kinky_ , Wonder Boy," Joker is grinning despite the pain, "Do you kiss your mommy with that mouth? Oh, too soon?"

 

"--And then I'm going to drop those pieces into a vat of acid to make sure not enough of you remains to ever come back."

 

"Been there, done that, got the disfiguring chemical scars to prove it."

 

Jason grits his teeth, drops over Joker until he's straddling his chest, grabs fistfuls of Joker's godawful suit, pulls him up and feels a moment of satisfaction when Joker's head lolls back a bit before rising up so he can stare into Jason's eyes.

 

"You were always _my_ favorite Robin," Joker chuckles, and the wet scraping sound of air leaving his lungs grates on Jason's nerves, "You had _spirit_! Panache! The first one was annoying, always _jabberjabberjabber._ He never shut up! And the one _after_ you? Boooooorrriiiiiiing! Honestly, I don't know what daddy Bats was _thinking_. I haven't felt the urge to kill him _at all_ , and that really says something!"

 

"Shut up." Jason growls, pulls his arm back and punches, feels the soft bone of Joker's nose give way under his protected knuckles, and a thrilling shiver crawls up his spine. He breathes in, savors the feeling, the way his hate and anger rejoice inside him, drops Joker and grins at the way the clown just _falls_ back before climbing back to his feet.   

 

Jason pulls his gun free from its holster, aims at the freak's head, finger caressing the trigger, and things, _marvels_ how easy it would be to just pull the trigger now.

 

Too easy. The clown has never deserved easy.

 

The gun lowers and Jason squeezes the trigger. There's a gasp of breath when the bullet goes through Joker's shoulder, piercing through bone and lodging deep. Jason puts a bullet in Joker's other shoulder, steps back, aims high again and finds Joker grinning up at him, face a disgusting mess of blood and spit.

 

Jason shudders. For a moment his vision pops, and he sees himself, the goddamn stupid kid he'd been, staring up at him with the same broken and bloodied face. Jason almost stumbles back, but he narrows his eyes, looks himself dead in the eye, and for a glorious second he feels free.

 

It's time to put this ghost to rest.

 

Jason never gets the chance.

 

He's about to pull the trigger, to put Joker and himself out of their misery, when there's a crash, windows shattering and a, "Jason! No!" shouted in a voice Jason has both ached to hear again and wished he never would, before something hard and black and monstrous collides with him, pushing him back and off his feet. The gun in his hand goes flying, skids across the concrete floor.

 

Despite how big and tall Jason has gotten over the years, Bruce is _still_ bigger and taller, and infinitely stronger. But defense isn't just about height and weight, and Bruce's training, mixed with The League's, has made Jason a truly ferocious warrior.

 

When his mind jumps into gear again, when his instincts bleed through, Jason manages to break through Bruce's hold on him, kicks the older man away from him by planting his two booted feet on Bruce's armored chest and _pushing_. Bruce stumbles away, and Jason rolls back, onto his feet, pulls his remaining gun free and aims just before Bruce can lunge at him again.

 

It all goes very quiet.

 

For a few seconds, until...

 

"Bats!" Joker wheezes happily. "You caaaaaammmmmmeeeeeeee! My _hero_."

 

Bruce doesn't acknowledge him. Doesn't turn to give the clown a quick onceover. His eyes, hidden behind the cowl's lenses, remain fixed on Jason.

 

"Robin," Bruce says in a tone that's been drilled into Jason's mind; one he'll never forget. Harsh, to the point, clearly saying _stand down_ without actually needing to voice the words. How many times did Bruce need to take that tone with him? When Jason had gotten angry and frustrated, which feels like it had been _all the time_.

 

"Don't call me that," Jason breathes shakily. Memory and emotion lodge in his throat, and god it almost feels like his bones are caving in on themselves.

 

Bruce. The man he'd loved - still loved - something between a father figure and an older brother, a mentor, a guide, a savior, whom he'd wanted nothing more than to stay with for as long as he could, was standing in front of him. The man he would have given and done anything for. The man who'd forgotten him, replaced him, like Jason had meant _nothing_ to him, who'd let his murderer walk free.

 

The man he hated _so fucking much_ that he couldn't breathe because that very same hate was smothering, like smoke in his lungs.

 

"This one's flown the nest, Bats!" Joker cackled dimly from where he was still lying. The fact that he could still talk was a goddamn miracle. "Or _maybe_ pushed out is more accurate."

 

"Be quiet." Bruce snarled, which only earned him a few more wet, wheezing cackles.

 

"Get out of my way, so I can kill that sick fuck once and for all." Jason's hand is steady, his aim true, and he knows exactly where to shoot, where Batman's armor is the weakest, where it will _hurt_ if not kill.

 

"You don't have to do this, son." Bruce's voice has gone soft, kind, stirring up memories of nights in the living room, huddled on the couch, movies playing and knowing he was safe, and loved.

 

Lies. All of it.

 

"Yes, I do!" Jason screams. "Because you won't!"

 

His words has Joker laughing again. Hysterically, the insane cackles bouncing off the walls, pounding in Jason's skull, and he barely hears the, "Oh, Bats, can I tell him? Pleeeeaaaasseeeee?"

 

" _Shut up,_ " Bruce snaps, but they all know it's futile. Joker won't listen to anyone.

 

"Bats almost _did_ kill me." Joker says gleefully. "Had me hanging over the edge and was ready to let me drop, and go _splat_! Oh what a pretty color I would have made all splashed out on concrete. But... But..." Joker giggles. "But then he realized he _loved_ me too much!"

 

"Shut up, that's not--,"

 

"We _need_ each other, you see? While he can live without you, and even the other birds, he can't live without meeeeeeeeeeee." Joker's words trailed off into more chuckling and coughing.

 

"Don't listen to him. That's not why," Bruce begs.

 

"I don't care why," Jason whispers. "But the freak is right, B. You don't seem capable of living without each other."

 

" _Jason_." Bruce says, and like Dick, manages to even sound gutted.

 

Jason shakes his head, and sees the moment Bruce decides he won't let him leave, won't let him kill Joker either, sees the hand reach for his utility belt, likely to grab anything that could immobilize Jason so he can carry him back to the manor. _Lock him up_.

 

Jason has his own tricks.

 

The smoke pellet he drops was custom made to mess with Batman's sensors, at least for a moment. Jason knows he doesn't have long, three or four seconds at most, before the cowl's heat vision kicks in, but that's all he needs. He has a grappler out, aims high and shoots, lets the line carry him up towards the building's roof, through the ceiling windows he'd smashed through earlier.

 

Bruce won't come after him. Not when Joker has finally been caught again.

 

Jason has no idea how he gets home. His mind is blank. One second he's squeezing his eyes shut, his heart shattering as it pumps blood all over his insides, as it begs him to turn around and go back to Bruce, let the man help him like he once did, and the next he's staggering through the apartment's living room, Damian's shocked, "Todd?" running through his mind.

 

He stumbles right into Damian's waiting arms, and he finally realizes he's hyperventilating, chest heaving as air stutters out of his burning lungs, and clings to the younger man, gloved fingers digging into the cotton of Damian's shirt.

 

"Jason?" Damian whispers, tries to calm him. "Beloved? You're bleeding."

 

"Not mine." Jason manages to gasp, and god he has that fucker's blood all over him. He feels dirty, contaminated, like it's seeping into his skin, becoming a part of him and he'll _never_ be free now. He's pulling at his jacket, clawing at it, but his panicked mind has him shaking, and he can't do _anything_ and soon he's screaming, lungs burning, throat stinging, to get it off, _get it off_!

 

Damian listens. Damian knows what he needs. He's pushing the jacket over Jason's shoulders, down his arms, throws it to the side and divests Jason of the rest of his clothes just as easily.

 

"Do you love me?" Jason asks a few minutes later, when he's safe, naked, in Damian's arms, when his heart no longer feels like it's being ripped inside by ghostly hands.

 

"Yes." Damian's reply is immediate.

 

"Would you kill for me?"

 

This time the response doesn't come immediately, and Jason crumbles, but then Damian's hand is on his jaw, lifting his face up so he can stare into green eyes.

 

"I would burn the whole world down if you asked it of me," Damian says, and it's a vow, a promise that, should Jason just _ask_ , then Damian would inflict divine punishment on the masses, without mercy.

 

Jason's eyes slip shut and lets his broken soul be stitched back together under Damian's perfect hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit I had Mark Hamill's voice in my head as I wrote this Joker. I blame it on Arkham Knight, really.


End file.
